


The Night Smells of Orchids (And Blood)

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Category: Marvel
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dominatrix, Domme, Domme/sub relationship, F/M, Male Submissive, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Sex Club, Strap-Ons, Submission, Undercover Missions, Whipping, bdsm club, bratty sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their newest mission requires a certain touch.</p><p>A touch of leather and silk.  Of blood and orchids.  </p><p>Of pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to have been finished in July for some sort of BuckyNat event I was a part of but I got extremely ill and as such, didn't finish it in time. And as is always the case with me, I forgot about it until I suddenly remembered it and so here I am, writing illicit BDSM smut on my work computer.
> 
> Fight me IT guys. Fight me.
> 
> Ever yours.
> 
> -M

They’re perfect for this mission.  

Maria Hill knows it.  

He knows it.

Natasha knows it.

He smirks into his coffee and leans back into his chair, every inch the confident spy.  Only Nat sees the familiar darkness in his eyes and the faint sheen of sweat starting to appear on his arm and neck.  

It’s a certain kind of sweat and he knows she knows what it means for him.

Her red lips curl in a dangerous smile and something deep within his stomach clenches as his cock stirs in response to the promise he sees in her gaze.

“So when you found out you were going to need agents to infiltrate an infamous Miami BDSM club, did you think of us right away Hill?  Or did you at least consider Morse and Barton?” he asks the Director, forcing his mind and eyes away from his partner, taking a sip of too hot coffee as he does.  

Maria Hill doesn’t smile.  She simply pulls up a dossier on their apparent target.  

The picture of the man is grainy but Bucky can see how shady the man is anyway.  

Definite scumbag.  

What does this have to do with a sex club?

“His name is Marco Plier,” Hill says in her clipped no-nonsense tone.

Bucky smirks into his coffee at memories of how that voice slipping into something other than militaristic efficiency.  

He’s seen their brave Director come apart at the seams.

He’s heard her sing.  

It remains one of the most stunning things he’s ever witnessed in his long life.

They share a glance and her cheeks flush at the heat she sees in his gaze but she doesn’t let him fluster her.  He notes though, that she refuses to look at Natasha.

Who simply studies their packet of info, eyes cast down and long hair shielding her face.

He knows she watches them though, every bit of her aware of the memories washing between the three of them and he winks at Maria who simply rolls her eyes and flicks her finger across the tabletop in front of her.

“Plier is an arms dealer,” she says, pulling up reports on under-the-table sales deals completed in cities all over Nigeria, Pakistan, Kuzikistan.  

China.

The man is a Grade A creep.  

“He obtains the weapons he sells through an exceptionally tight web of thieves,” she continues and Bucky doesn’t miss the irritation he hears in her steely voice.  “It’s a web we haven’t managed to crack yet.”

She smiles then, a sharklike grin that sets his skin to crawling and a feral grin to curling Nat’s lips.

“We have managed to track him down, using some of his more avant garde hobbies, so to speak,” Hill says and her finger flicks across the screen once more.  A massive brick house, fenced in by heavy wrought iron and guarded by some of the staunchest bouncers he’s ever seen is his life, appears on the screen before them and that crawling increases drastically.

Natasha’s thigh presses against his as she takes in the manor, face completely blank but eyes heated in a way he knows so well.

“Welcome to the Orchid House,” Maria says and Bucky doesn’t miss the faint trace of longing he hears in her voice.  He glances at her quickly but she doesn’t look at him.  “It’s one of Miami’s most famous clubs.  Extremely exclusive and frustratingly secretive.”  She flicks her finger across the screen, replacing the manor house once more with the shady arm’s dealer they’re meant to neutralize.

At a sex club?

“How does the Orchid House come into play?” he blurts, brow furrowing and he jumps when Natasha pinches his thigh.  “What?” he hisses without looking at her, something in him quailing at the warning in her touch.  “I want to know what we’re in for.”

“Wait,” she hisses back, every inch of her warning him he’s overstepping his bounds.

Crossing a line in the sand he didn’t realize had been drawn until just now.

He instinctively drops back and folds his hands on the table.  “Sorry Director,” he says quietly eyes dropped to his twisting fingers.  

Natasha strokes his leg gently and turns her attention back to Hill, who just watches them with her eyebrow raised and her finger frozen on the picture of Plier.  

“The mission,” Hill says after a moment, clearing her throat and visibly shaking herself as she turns back to the screen.  “Is to neutralize Plier before he can complete the sale of this.”

Her finger flicks once more and Plier is replaced by something that makes Bucky’s blood run cold.  Natasha’s sharp gasp at his side and Hill’s thinning lips tell him he’s not overreacting.

Tell him that the stakes in this game are unbelievably high.

And suddenly everything clicks into place.

“You two were chosen for this mission because I know from my own experience that you are going to be the only ones capable of infiltrating the Orchid House, neutralizing a dangerous scumbag Black Market arm’s dealer and bring back a Stark Industries nuclear grade missile before it can be sold to one of our enemies.”

Maria Hill’s eyes are dark, shadowed.

And his skin is no longer crawling.

His entire body is chilled.

Natasha’s fingers tighten on his thigh and he finds himself leaning into her, instincts screaming for him to go to her.  To let her keep him safe.

To let her hold him.

Hill just sighs and swipes her finger once more, darkening the screens in front of them.  Her lips curl in a wistful smile as she rises and she taps her knuckles once, twice on the table before saying quietly, “I chose you two because I know you’re the best at what you do.”

She turns to go but before the door can close entirely on her, she glances over her shoulder once more and smiles.  “Besides, Morse and Barton don’t know how to really use a whip, now do they?”

The door closes behind her with a soft click and Bucky huffs out a laugh.  

“Christ,” he mutters to himself, hands rising to press against his eyes.  “A fucking sex club.”

Natasha is quiet for a moment but then her fingers are pressing into the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair and he shivers when her nails bite his skin.  

“Look at me James,” she says, her voice full of a gentle, unbreakable command and he moans before he can stop himself.

Her green eyes are dark, heated, when he raises his gaze to hers and she smiles, dragging her knuckles over his cheekbone.  

“Can you obey?” she asks, gently and they’re words he longs for.  Words he runs from.

Words he knows in the marrow of his bones.

He hesitates and suddenly she’s gripping his chin, pulling him closer to her.

“Can you obey?” she asks again and every inch of her demands his answer.  

Demands his obedience.

He nods and turns his head in her grip to press a soft kiss to her wrist.

“Yes,” he whispers.  “Yes, I can obey you Madam.”

She smiles gently, lovingly at him and pulls his head down for a kiss.

“Thank you, pet,” she whispers against his lips and his entire body melts into her touch.  

This mission...

He shakes himself as she releases him and leaves the conference room.

This mission may break them.

He shudders, his entire body quickening at the thought.  

He relishes it, in some deep, dark part of him only Natasha can tap.

He relishes it.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Welcome to the Orchid House Madam.  We’ve been expecting you.  Is your domestic’s name on the list?”

The girl is naked.  

Except for the clamps pinching her swelling nipples and a pair of barely there panties that leave her pert little ass bare.  

Bucky’s skin tightens at the dreamy look in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks.  

Judging by the way she holds herself, stiff and upright with that ass drawn tight into her pelvis...

His cock twitches in his too-tight leather pants and Natasha’s fingers tighten on the leash keeping him tight to her side.  

“Patience, pet,” she purrs, green eyes sparking dangerously in the shadows of the black domino mask covering her upper face.  Her hair is black, piled high on her head in an elegant updo held together by two obsidian chopsticks and a small army of bobby pins.  

His hair is gathered in a small bun at the back of his skull.  

Perfect for gripping.

The mask clinging to his cheeks does nothing to hide how much he longs to kiss her.

To let her touch him.

She just turns back to the door attendant and smiles coldly.

“Tonight, he has no name,” she says and her voice brooks no argument.

She is every inch the mistress tonight.

Every inch his domme and he almost falls to his knees at the thought.  

The girl shudders at the command in Natasha’s voice and bends to cross her name off of a list.  Her breasts brush against the podium the list sits on and her short little gasp makes Bucky’s mouth dry and his blood begins to rush in his ears.

Natasha doesn’t even glance at him, simply tugs on the leash and follows the girl through the heavy, dark wood double doors opening on silent hinges.

She leads him from the silent, decadent manor foyer into what can only be described as a masochist’s heaven.

Heavy bass music fills the air, the words lost amidst the sounds of the club and he starts to shiver as sharp cries fill the air and the sound of slaps on pliant flesh comes to him from too many shadowed corners.

The attendant, walking carefully due to the bright pink plug bobbing between her ass cheeks, glances at him from over her shoulder and grins.  She looks at him like she understands.

And maybe...

Maybe she does.

Submissive to submissive.

He closes the little distance between himself and Natasha and tries to ignore the way his own asshole tightens in response to the sight of the girl’s plug ducking teasingly between her ass cheeks.  

“Remember the mission James,” Natasha says, her voice soft in his ear as she stretches up to press a nipping kiss to his jaw.  “Keep an eye out for Plier.”  

He shakes himself and nods against her forehead.  “Yes Madam,” he rasps, eyes fluttering closed as she tugs his hair lightly.  

The mission, he thinks, part of his mind already in that grey space only subs ever seem to access.

Right.

At this point…

There’s only one mission that matters.

Surviving whatever Natasha Romanova throws at him.

Literally.

He swears he can feel his balls tighten at the very thought.  

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The St. Andrew’s cross is tucked away in a nearly hidden corner of the club.  

It gives them the perfect vantage they need to keep an eye on the patrons around them and the privacy to talk to each other about…

Well, whatever it is Natasha has planned for him.  

“You have your safeword in mind James?” she asks as she tightens the leather straps around his wrists and ankles.  He tries to hide his wince as the leather pinches the synthetic skin on his left arm but ultimately fails; the SHIELD techs really did do too good of a job on creating this version.

Not that he’s complaining. If it lets them enjoy this night a little bit longer?  

Yeah, so not complaining.

Her green eyes spark dangerously when he doesn’t answer right away, his arms shaking just slightly as he strives to remain calm.

To focus.

“James,” she snaps, fingers sharp on his chin as she jerks his head down the better to meet his gaze.  “Answer me now.”

“I’m not supposed to have a name tonight,” he bites out, his teeth baring in a daring sneer he knows he’ll pay for.

Hopes he’ll pay for.  

“Mistress.”

Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits at the challenge she sees in his muscled, mostly naked body and he shudders involuntarily at the acknowledgement she gives to his attitude.

“Safe-word, now, pet,” she snarls, her hand trailing from his chin to his semi-hard cock, jutting against the black briefs she allows him to wear, if only for a little while longer.  

His head drops back against the crux of the cross with a bitten off curse, those dangerous fingers of hers squeezing his balls.  For a moment, just a moment, he forgets what they’re doing her.

What the mission is.

His entire world narrows to the points of her nails biting through his briefs into his hardening cock and he bites back a groan.

This is all he can sense.

All he can feel.

Her, leaning into him, her delicate palm cupping him and his eyes roll back into his skull at the sensation of vinyl covered breasts brushing his chest.

“Focus, James,” she whispers, teeth nipping at his ribs.  “Or else I end this right now and we let Hill take over.”

That breaks him of his revery and he bites out the safe word, dragging it out begrudgingly, his eyes fluttering open when her fingers leave him.

“Pitchka.  Pitchka mistress.  Please…”

He begs, writhes on the smooth wood of the cross, his hips yearning towards her empty palms. She just smiles beneath her elegantly beaded mask, the rubies glinting in the gloom as she studies him, like an artist studying her muse.

Which he is…

His head drops back to the cross as he groans once more and she chuckles as she adds yet another strap across the tensing muscles of his stomach.

“Thank you, pet,” she murmurs, the back of her knuckles stroking along the clenched muscles of his jaw to tangle in the bun at the back of his skull.  

He winces at that biting pain, his eyes opening as the world once more lurches back into place and she smiles gently at him, her grip tightening.

“Focus, now.”

He nods slightly against her grip, turning his head instinctively into her touch and glances around their tiny corner.

They have an audience, three or four doms, their subs at their feet, have gathered to watch their show. Attentive eyes watch him, watch his body answering to her touch and the way she awakens him, bit by bit.

Appreciation and approval lights the doms’ eyes.

Trepidation and arousal light the subs’.

HIs skin heats but he pays his own arousal no mind; instead he watches the club, listens to Natasha’s breaths and waits.

Waits for Plier’s appearance.

And tries to keep as still for Natasha as he can.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

She watches James’ muscles rippling under her touch, responding to everything she does to him, and she smiles to herself.

He is so in-tune to her.

So ready to take everything she gives to him, asks of him.

It’s what makes them the perfect partners on missions and in bed, of course.

His willingness to throw himself into the fray for her and her willingness to pull him back at the end of the day.

His dark eyes lock on hers just as she reaches for the flogger one of the club submissives has left for their play and she knows he’s found Plier. He nods in the direction of the bar and she lifts her chin in acknowledgement before laying the soft deerskin to his body.

He doesn’t jump at the sting, simply tenses into it, thigh muscles bunching and hands fisting against the dark mahogany of the cross.

The Orchid House really does have the best toys, she reflects as she snaps her wrist back before laying the floggers tails across his legs and chest in a lazy pattern. She doesn’t watch Plier, though she can sense him, now that James has located him.

Instead she concentrates on her partner’s growing arousal and the slow pinkening of his skin.

“Natalia,” he groans, his eyes rolling back into his skull when the soft deerskin snaps across his cock. “Please.”

He’s close, she knows that, but he knows to wait for her.

Wait for her orders.

They’ve spent too many years dancing to each other’s tune for him to fail tonight.

Besides, the bait hasn’t been taken yet.

She strokes the back of her fingers across his jaw, her lips curling when his try to catch her palm but she doesn’t let him touch her.

“Wait, pet,” she murmurs, her hands trailing over his chest now, rubbing against the rising welts on his ribs and stomach. “Wait.”

He bites back a groan when she palms his cock, his back arching against the heavy leather straps binding him to the cross and she waits to see if he’ll manage to snap the leather.

It’s happened before, in lesser establishments than this, and her eyebrows arch over her mask as she watches the illusion of muscles cord on his left arm.

“Mistress, please,” he snarls and she hears a man’s voice murmur a question in the midst of their little audience. She doesn’t glance up. Plier mustn’t see her distracted.

She must be every inch the domme.

Poor James…

He hisses the moment her fingers leave his cock to toy with his nipples. She pinches the delicate peaks, smiling gently at the breath hissing between his teeth and the sensation of his powerful thighs rising aganst the cross to press against her hips.

"Natalia," he groans, through clenched jaws and his eyes flutter closed; she strikes him then, the back of her fingers connecting with his cheek and he nearly succeeds in tearing free of the cross when she digs her fingers into his cock.

"Names," she hisses, eyes blazing furiously as her nails bite and his eys lock on hers, silently pleading.

She waits to see if he will use the safe word.

She doesn't release him, his shaft throbbing behind the soft cotton of his briefs, reminding her it's nearly time to remove him of said fabric.

"Apologize immediately for your transgression, pet," she orders, releasing him and folding her arms over her chest. He almos whimpers at that, at her refusal to continue and his teeth tug at his lips as he struggles to regain some of his composure.

She waits, patiently for this game to play itself out a little further and allows her gaze to skate over the assembled dominants and their subs.

She can just make out Plier, kneeling at the feet of an apparent dom, his heavily muscled chest oiled and waxed. The twerp of a mark is trembling as he watches them play, his head leaning back against his dom's knees, that freshly fucked haze still clouding his eyes.

He makes her skin crawl.

"I'm sorry Mistress," James whispers and she turns her gaze back to him, wishing his dark eyes had that fucked over grey haze as well.

Her fingers clench at the thought of getting him there.

"Thank you, my pet," she whispers, her fingers stroking his cheek in praise, over the redness she left from her slap mere moments before. "Are you ready to continue?"

He doesn't hesitate, his body stirring at her touch and she smiles at the creak of leather and the whine of a hidden metal joint straining.

"Good boy," she whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to his slightly swollen lips. "You won't like this part, I promise you."

His breath hitches in his chest and she can see it then, him considering using the safeword.

But then his eyes flick ever so slightly to the left and she watches the muscles in his jaw clench.

She doesn't push, for the moment content to see just what he'll do, and this is just as much a part of the play as the torment is.

The delicate dance they dance, always skirting the edge of pain and madness.

Of danger.

His brown eyes meet hers, trusting, full of love and he smiles before nodding just once in acknowledgement.

"Whatever you wish Madam," he rasps, his swollen lips just begging for her to kiss them. To strike them once more.

"I will do for you."


	5. Chapter 5

The mark watches them hungrily, from his corner of the bar.

“If he doesn’t come over here soon, I’m going to drag him out by his ears,” Bucky grumbles, watching Plier from the corner of his eye.

Natasha snorts and cards her fingers through his hair. “Shush,” she murmurs, pressing his head tighter to her thigh. “He’ll come when it’s too much for him to bear. He’s been watching us all night.”

Bucky closes his eyes and sighs, his body easing into hers, the aches from their play vanishing with each beat of his heart. The wrung out feeling of release still washes over him, for which he’s kind of relieved. 

It’s something he never really understood before Natasha.

Before she introduced him to  _ this _ sort of sexual release. 

“Drink your water,” she whispers in his ear, her dark hair spilling around him and he smiles absently, twisting a finger through her curls. “You have another scene in mind, Madam?” he asks meekly and fuck.

This is something he never would have understood before her.

The release of a submissive being bent to a domme’s will. 

“Mm,” she hums, nails biting into the nape of his neck in warning and he subsides. “You could say that.” 

He glances up at her and swallows heavily when he catches her gazing thoughtfully at the bench currently going unused nearby. “Natasha,” he says quietly, eyes pleading when he glances up at her. “I can’t-”

His words end on a soft cry, her nails biting into the hidden scarring at his shoulder and her eyes warn him to be quiet from the shadows of her mask.

“You will do as you’re told,” she says calmly, rising and snapping her fingers as she does. “Bend over that bench and wait for my orders.”

He doesn’t hesitate. And he doesn’t glance in the bars direction to check on Plier.

All he can think about is…

That order. 

And how she might think to punish him for his obvious disobedience.

The whipping bench is solid-one of the best he’s ever leaned over-made of dark mahogany and supple black leather that smells of antiseptic and lemon oil. He inhales slowly, eyes closing as he leans his body over it, arms tucked behind him in the small of his back and he listens.

Listens for her return.

He can hear her murmuring to an attendant, asking for something but he can’t hear just what it is she’s requesting.

His skin bumps in anticipation.

“Relax James,” she murmurs suddenly, small hand trailing over his overheated skin, rubbing over his ass to press into his shoulders. She hums softly to herself, bending to adjust the bench so it tilts a little higher and he grunts, knees pressing into the lightly padded rest. 

“Mistress,” he begins to plead but jumps into silence when she strikes him, small hand stinging on his ass.

“That’s enough of that,” she snaps, and before he can even protest, she blindfolds him and gags him with a strip of leather. “Listen to me, that’s all I ask,” she murmurs in his ear. “Plier is falling for the trap.”

Blinded now, every other sense strains towards her. His skin twitches for her touch, his cock thickening against his leg.

She binds his hands and legs with silken rope, allows him to test the strength of her knots, despite them both knowing he could break them if he truly needed to and he takes a deep breath, hips struggling against his bindings to rise into her caress.

It’s quiet in their little area, the distant sounds of the other club’s patrons a long-forgotten soundtrack to their game and he waits for her.

Waits for her desperately wanted cruelty.

Her hands, small but dangerously strong, rub him, rolling the muscles of his ass in their capable palms and he finds himself relaxing, mind drifting to other things.

To Plier, who he can smell, the man’s cologne a familiar smell now that Bucky’s marked him.

To the happy sting of the welts Natasha had given him in their first scene.

To-

The attendant she’d been speaking with a moment before returns and his quiet voice is paired with the familiar sound of creaking leather and the faint jingle of a harness.

Bucky stiffens on the bench, his skin rippling under her hands and she chuckles before taking whatever it is she’s been brought.

“We’ve played with this before, James,” she murmurs and her heady scent washes over him, her hair brushing his cheek and the familiar sound of a vibrator punctuates her words. 

_ Oh God,  _ he thinks mouth going dry around the gag and cock twitching in response to her teasing. 

She moves away from him and he strains to listen, to catch the sound of her clothes falling away to be replaced by leather and metal and most likely anatomically correct silicone. 

The pulse of the vibrator comes back, briefly, her checking to make sure the batteries are indeed charged and every single one of his muscles fires into life. 

She chuckles, taking up position behind him and his hips strain towards her, breath coming in hot pants, cock grinding into the soft leather of the bench.

But he stays quiet, biting back his pleads and her name, biting back  _ everything _ he wishes he could say and  _ would _ if they weren’t in a strange club and didn’t have a mark watching them with hungry eyes.

He wishes he could beg.

Beg for her to break him.

To take him.

Again and again and again and-

Cold lube slides between his ass cheeks and he lurches forward, thighs and hips slapping into the bench hard enough to strain the wood and he groans through the gag, teeth clenched so hard he’s sure the leather will come out scarred with their indents.

She pays him no mind, spreading his ass and he shudders when she passes her thumb over his rectum, once-twice.

She takes him, index finger easing past the muscles and he whimpers, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Easy,” she murmurs, free hand rubbing soothing circles on his lower back. “Easy. It’s been a while, I know. Just relax and take me, you can do it pet.”

He takes a deep breath, shuddering against the wood, every nerve in his body firing as she removes the finger, to replace it with two, spreading him with each slow thrust. He groans, the stinging intrusion easing into pleasure and his hips start to undulate with her thrusts, legs spreading as best they can against the ropes to better accommodate her.

“Good,” she says, approval and arousal thick in her voice. “Good. Thank you.”

He wishes he could speak. To tell her he loves her.

To tell her-

Tell her he trusts her.

She adds more lube, the cold slide of it as arousing as the fingers she thrusts in his anus and he wishes this could never end.

Wishes-

She removes her fingers with a slight pop and his hands clench in the small of his back; but she barely gives him a chance to prepare for the much larger strap-on he knows she has waiting for him.

His balls tighten at the thought and his head snaps back the moment the head of the dildo presses past the still tight muscles of his rectum. 

“Ahh,” he groans through her gag, body shuddering as the vibrations begin to rock through him. 

She leans over him, pressing kisses to his shoulders, to the hidden scars of his arm, hips snapping against his ass quickly and expertly.

The strap on picks up in vibrations, easing deeper and deeper with each thrust and his legs spread, his ass rises between thrusts, the better to meet her rhythm, to make it easier for her. 

Their breaths come as one, hard and hot and her fingers bite into his hips, slide between him and the bench to grip his cock. 

“Plier is about to come undone,” she whispers in his ear, pulling his head back so she can press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his jaw. “We’ll have him now. In the palm of our hands.”

Bucky doesn’t care.

Doesn’t hear her.

His entire existence narrows to her, to the dildo striking his prostate, to the slick silicone slide of it easing in-and-out of his rectum. 

To the feel of her hand rolling his balls in her palm.

To her faint groans as the vibrator brings her close as well.

She knows when he’s close, can see it in the definition of his muscles as they tense and she murmurs his name, giving him permission to come.

Which he does with a muffled shout and a massive shuddering of muscles, coming undone as one.

She follows, thrusting brutally, grinding herself into his ass, into the vibrator pulsing between them and she buries her face between his sweaty shoulders with a groan. 

“Good job, James,” she whispers, stroking his hips gently. “Thank you. Thank you my love.”

His vision grays, body falling limp against the bench, legs twitching when she shifts, the vibrator still pulsing deep within him, brushing his prostate gently. Arousal washes over him, briefly but even they, super soldier serums notwithstanding, have very little hope of regaining their stamina so soon.

He groans when she withdraws, the vibrator still now and he shivers at the emptiness, at the absence of her touch.

At the strange sense of abandonment he always feels when this particular game is through.

“Come here,” she murmurs, tugging the ropes free of his hands and legs. The blindfold and gag are next and he blinks up at her, entire body starting to shiver with little aftershocks of pleasure. She smiles down at him, cupping his face between her hands and strokes his cheeks. “You did very well James.”

He smiles, dreamily, eyes fluttering closed at her caresses and runs his tongue over his lips for a second. 

“P-Plier is bringing us water,” he murmurs, eyes locked on hers and her look of surprise is worth the fatigue he feels.

The wrung-out feeling he gets when she works him for all he’s worth.

“I think our trap worked Natalia,” he continues when their little circle is broken by their mark’s arrival, eyes hungry for them and welcome bottles of water tight in his shaking hands.

“M-mistress,” the little man stammers, bowing before her, eyes skating over them both, taking in her gentle care of the man in her arms and the faint shaking of their muscles as their pleasures wash over them.  “That was-you two were-tonight has been eye-opening for me,” he stammers, following them to the quiet corner of the club they’d gone to a while before. Her arms are tight around Bucky, rubbing warmth back into him through the blanket she’d tossed over him after removing the ropes and he grins at her briefly. 

Which she ignores. 

“What can we do for you sub? Do not waste my time. My own submissive needs my care now,” she snaps. Her eyes are cold, flat.

Even Bucky shivers at the blatant dismissal he sees in their green depths.

Plier, shirtless and barefoot, shivers and drops his gaze immediately. “I am sorry to intrude, mistress, but I just wished to speak to you and your-and your submissive, for a moment,” he stammers, accent thickening with his anxiety. Bucky’s lips twitch in a grin but he turns his head away, pressing a kiss to Natasha’s thigh, his fingers curling around her ankle.

Anchoring himself.

Her fingers are gentle in his hair, easing some of the knots she’d caused during their play, free. 

She reclines further on the couch, her black silk robe, courtesy of the Orchid House staff, falling open and Plier’s sharp inhale makes her lips curl. 

Scars dot her body, marks she’s been given throughout her long career-some of them, he himself has given her-and Bucky can’t help the faint brush of arousal washing through him at the sight of those pale marks on her body.

He has a fair few of his own to match hers.

“What do you wish to speak to us about?” she asks, taking a sip of water from the bottle he’d handed her moments before. She offers the bottle to Bucky, who takes what she gives him happily, murmuring his thanks and leaning into her touch as she strokes his cheek. “I hope it is not to ask if I am in need of another sub,” she continues, glancing at Plier, her masked face expressionless. “I only just got this one trained to my very exacting needs,” she says, yanking sharply at Bucky’s hair, forcing his head back and his throat bared.

She kisses him, eyes flicking up to catch Plier’s expression and Bucky bares his teeth in a warning snarl in the man’s direction.

Plier watches them, that blank hunger once more in his eyes and he falls to his knees before them, hands folded in his lap and head bowed in supplication.

Natasha fairly purrs at the sight, lips curling in a smile as she leans back and Bucky would laugh.

If this wasn’t part of their game.

“Please, Mistress,” Plier begs, voice weedling and strident. Bucky rolls his eyes and turns back to Natasha’s legs, fingers rubbing at her calves and ankles. Plier shuffles closer to her, only stopping when her foot darts out to press into his chest, stopping him. Her eyes flash in warning, sneer replacing her smile and she hisses. The man shivers and bows, “Apologies, mistress. It’s just...I have never seen one with such skill as you before. I have never experienced...Experienced…”

His words trail off and Natasha sighs, hand rising to pass over her masked eyes. Bucky grins into her thigh, lips trailing over her leg, the familiar scent of her arousal washing over him and he murmurs to her in Russian, “ _ Hooked and netted, pitchka.” _

She winks at him, spreading her legs to accommodate his kisses and his body and sighs.

“Wait for us by the door, sub,” she murmurs, head falling back on her shoulders, fingers tangling in Bucky’s hair as his tongue begins to taste her, fingers kneading into her thighs. “There are things we must discuss, that are best done without this particular atmosphere threatening to cloud our judgements.”

She laughs at the sight of Plier scrambling away and Bucky hums, teeth nipping sharply at her clit.

“ _ We should alert Maria to the night’s events, moy medved,” _ she groans, hips rising into his mouth and he hums in agreement, the vibrations of his voice serving counterpoint to his tongue, easing past her entrance. “ _ I did not think he’d come to us so willingly. I thought we would have to drug him and drag him-drag him-aaaah… _ ”

He smiles slowly up at her, lips swollen and shining with the juices of her orgasm and she presses a shaking hand to his cheek.

“Ah James,” she sighs, straightening his mask carefully. “We should come here again, when this mission is over.”

He doesn’t say anything, just presses a kiss to her palm, eyes cloudy with post-coital bliss.

"Come, pet," she says, after a moment, rising and snapping her fingers in an attendant's direction. "Let's get this over with once and for all. Maria is probably getting desperate."

Bucky just grins at the thought and presses a kiss to her shoulder, eyes meeting Plier's from across the club. 

Her promise, of coming back here when the little bastard is taken care of for good, hangs between them and his skin tightens at the thought. 

In anticipation. 

"Yes Mistress," he murmurs, falling in step behind her when they're clothed once more. 


	6. Chapter 6

Maria Hill is waiting for them, when they finally bring Plier in.

“What’d you do to him?” she asks, eyes narrowing as she takes in his bound, unconscious body, Bucky had dumped unceremoniously at her feet moments before. “You didn’t actually, um…”

Her voice trails away weakly and yeah, this is his favorite thing about Maria Hill. 

He knows what it sounds like, to hear her come undone. 

Natasha snorts and nudges Plier with the toe of her boot before perching on Hill’s desk. 

“We didn’t sodomize him, if that’s what you’re asking, Maria,” she purrs, leaning towards the woman and Bucky snorts, folding his arms across his chest.

He winces slightly when his aching muscles protest but neither woman pays him any mind, something silent passing between them that he by no means wishes to interrupt. 

“So what did you get out of him?” Hill asks, clearing her throat after a moment, her brusque, all business tone back firmly in place. Her dark eyes glance at him though, a question going unasked and he cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Everything,” he says, voice still a little rough from their night’s activities and he knows she hasn’t missed his swollen lips or the fact that he hasn’t sat down yet. 

And he doesn’t miss the hunger in her gaze or the way she absently leans into Natasha, eyes downcast politely.

He casts a warning glare in his partner’s direction, who smiles back before hopping free of Hill’s desk. 

“We know who Plier’s supplier is, who his contacts are and who he was hoping to sell to while in Miami,” she says, tossing a drive onto Hill’s desk. “It’s all there, including all of the locations of his safe-houses and the safe-houses of his clients. I’d say we were very thorough.” 

Hill holds the drive up and glances between Natasha, Plier and Bucky.

“Hmm, thorough indeed,” she says, tucking the drive away in one of her pockets before rising from her desk. “I’d say you two have earned a much needed leave. But first, I have a very specific mission for you two. One of utmost delicacy.”

Dark eyes flash between them, lips curling in a dangerous smile and she hands them both a paper bearing the a vaguely familiar emblem and her signature. 

“What’s this?” Bucky asks, scowling at the paper and she grins.

“A contract,” she says, folding her arms beneath her chest. “It seems the owners of the Orchid House took some interest in your... _ methods _ this weekend and contacted your aliases, asking for you to come instruct a course on domme/sub interrelations sometime in the near future.”

Bucky gapes at her, speechless and Natasha scoffs out a disbelieving laugh.

But Hill just smirks at them, booted foot resting on Plier and says, “I agreed. Especially seeing as how some of Plier’s contacts may be members of the club.”

“Wh-what?” Bucky splutters, finally, able to find his voice and he takes a step towards her, fists rising.

But Natasha stops him, delicate hand circling his wrist. “James,  _ stop. _ ”

He shudders, gaze falling to his boots and he clenches his teeth.

“Fine Maria,” Natasha says, calmly, her own lips curling in a smile as the two women gaze at each other. “We’ll do it.  _ Willingly.  _ Won’t we, James?”

He mutters under his breath, but sighs when her nails bite into his pulse. “Yes, mistress,” he mutters, eyes rising to meet hers and Hill’s.  “Of course, mistress.”

Maria Hill nods. “Good,” she says, waving them away. “You have a few days to prepare. To heal,” she says, glancing at him knowingly. Which just makes him roll his eyes. “Oh, and Natasha?”

Natasha hesitates, her hand firm in the small of his back and they turn from the door to meet the Director of SHIELD’s frank gaze.

“I am a member of Orchid House as well,” she says, her words heavy with promise and her gaze heated. 

And it’s all he can do, to stop from thinking of what it’s like, to have Maria Hill come undone underneath their hands.

It hangs between them, that promise.

And it tastes like orchids.


End file.
